Gamlen's Story
by corypious
Summary: Left with nothing but an obscure estate in rural Orlais by his deceased parents, Gamlen set off on a life-changing adventure that he'd never forget.
1. An important day

**Author note: Hi guys, I've been reading DA fanfics for some time now. And so far it's been a really fun and educational experience. The only thing i have to complain is the lack of stories about Gamlen. He's one of my favorite characters in DA2, and i think he deserves some love and justice. That's why i'm going to start to write his story, My own version.**

**I'm also very much a slow burner kind of girl. So please be patience!**

**I'd really like to hear any constructive comments, grammar and punctuation corrections as it would really help a lot in my English writing :)**

**And I DONT own Dragon Age.**

**Kirkwall**

**9:8 Dragon**

Outrage. Bewilderment. Fury. Gamlen Amell was sure that no words in the dictionary can explain these jumbled, frenzied and interweaving blend of emotions that was quickly rising to boiling point under his skin, well, not anymore as those three words explained them rather aptly. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of Gamlen's life, today he had his father's will read to him at the executor's suite and after his sister's elopement, he was sure he was going to inherit it all. But it looked like he was going to live in her shadow forever as the executor continued with his father's will.

As usual, Gamlen was dressed in fine suit, though it was quickly drenched in perspiration. He'd have frowned at it if he hadn't strained all his attention to every word that came out of the executor's mouth. His combed back and immaculately groomed dark brown hair shimmering with auburn highlights under the blaring brightness of the room. His luminous grey eyes unwavering despite the unforgiving sunlight pouring in from the window ahead of him. Even with white hot fury that boiled behind his eyes, he was still a sight to behold. All Amell is. But if he didn't control this emotion, he'd be the first Amell to run amok at the Keep. Not that anybody would really care about it.

In truth, the only reason that kept him from letting it loose was the tiny hope within his numbing mind that he had somehow missed something.

"That previous part, repeat it. All of it," Gamlen interrupted.

The man behind the desk frowned as he looked up from the piece of parchments containing Gamlen's late father's will. Even before he finished reading it he could feel Gamlen's eyes boring down at him. He's seen many things in his long life, he liked to think himself as the kind of man who couldn't be easily intimidated. But looking back up at Gamlen as he told - no, commanded him to repeat, with so much pent up anger in his eyes, his late friend's steely grey eyes no less, he found himself unwilling to speculate as to what would happen if he tried to talk some sense into him in that state. He knew the spoiled boy was not the man his father was, nor will he ever be to any Kirkwaller, but if he had an ounce of his father's will, the result of attempting to talk around to those wrathful eyes would be nothing short of catastrophic. He knew, because he's seen it many times, each time he was grateful that he was not on the receiving end of that piercing glare.

He let out a defeated sigh as for the third time that day he relented. "Very well," he said as he picked up the neatly stacked parchments and fixed his reading glasses over his nose before starting reading the will.

"I, William Olivier Amell of the City of Kirkwall, of good and perfect memory do first yield my soul unto the Maker and my body unto the earth. Secondly, I bequeath my interests in that manner and form as hereafter followed."

"I give and bequeath unto my daughter, Leandra Lillian Amell, one estate known by the name of Amell Estate in Kirkwall, and all chattels and other article of a like nature in the estate or lent to any person by or on behalf of me, except as is hereinafter reserved."

"I bequeath to my said daughter the parcel of land known as the green grove, adjoining unto Starkhaven on the south, and else surrounded by the Minanter River."

"I bequeath to my said daughter the sum of two hundred sovereigns."

"I bequeath to my son, Gamlen Huw Amell, Prestige, my best sword, and all the rest, residue and remainder of my real estate in Orlais."

"If my said daughter shall not call upon my said executor for the said estate within five years from the date of my death, then the said estate shall go to my said son. Until then, my executor shall hold and manage according to his own judgment all my real and personal estate."

Having read the part as requested, the executor put the parchments back on his table.

When Gamlen said nothing he sat forward and put his palms together on top of the parchments on the table. "Serah Amell, I frankly don't know what you wished to achieve by having me read your father's will several times already. Notwithstanding the fact that this last will is backed by the grant of probate signed by the Viscount himself, I assure you that I have studied your late father's wishes to the best of my abilities."

Gamlen just sat there, nails digging deeper against the wooden armrests. Completely ignoring the executor's assurance Gamlen sat up on his seat, "Again."

"…Serah Amell, no matter how many times I repeat it-"

"Please," he said maintaining a civil tone, behind the quite transparent mask however, his mind raced seeking a way to restore the quickly diminishing hope that it was all just his hearing. He knew now that it was very unlikely that it was the culprit, and he was afraid that the executor had seen the doubt in his eyes.

The executor simply took the parchments and turned it so that he could read it himself, this way he'd have to be blind to believe he read it wrong, and unfortunately there would be no such reprieve today. "Please, help yourself."

Gamlen sat forward, all his nerves on the edge, as he reluctantly took the parchments that was to decide his future with trembling hands. The executor spoke something about keeping a copy, but it was all drowned by his rushing blood pounding in his ears. He didn't know how long he's been staring at this particular part of the will nor did he know why his heart was still beating at all, the only thing he knew for sure now was that his hearing had been working fine. But that cannot be. Some parts of him just couldn't accept the fact that all those grueling years wasted taking care of his parents in the absence of his traitorous sister, wishing that he'd get the inheritance that he deserved so that he could fuel his licentious life again, was for nothing. This has got to be a joke. How could they leave all their wealth to a viper who didn't even bother to come to their funeral? A mage-loving wench who didn't even send so much as one reply to their letters, let alone visit them when they were writhing in their death beds as the pain overwhelmed them. She should not be entitled to anything the moment she stepped out of her home and ran off with that good-for-nothing turnip.

Behind the desk, the executor looked at his watch, "Can we continue, please?"

To his relief, Gamlen finally looked up from the parchments, "I have a question. Seeing that I did inform her of the death and yet, as you have seen, she was neither in the funerals nor in this very room, I think it's pretty safe to say that she's never going to return to Kirkwall don't you think? She could be dead, killed by his apostate husband, for all I know!" The relief swiftly turned into disappointment for the executor, which could now clearly be seen on his weathered face. So this was how it was going to be, he wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

"You know as well as I do that it's not what this is about. This is about respecting your father's wishes."

"He's been sick for Maker knows how long, so clearly, it was wishes he made with no sound mind."

Alright, it was quite enough. He could blame everything on his eloping sister for all he cares, but when he started to dispute a judgment made by the highest authority in the city he knew it has to stop, lest the wrong person overhears it. "If you want to challenge the validity of your father's will you can take it up with the person who verified it, which without either status or money, you might as well talk to a wall."

Gamlen didn't want to admit it but he was right. He had wondered whether it would be worth it to pursue the issue with the Viscount. He dismissed it quickly knowing that the few sovereigns he has in his account would not be enough to sway the Viscount. But still that didn't give him the right to throw him, the rightful heir of the family, out of his own home for twenty-four years.

"It is my home Albert! You can't throw me out on the off chance that she might come back. I won't stand for this tomfoolery." He yelled as he rose from his seat.

"It is the law!" The executor was going to argue, but it was too late as Gamlen has already stormed out of the Keep.

"By Andraste's holy knickers, I will have a stroke any day now." The executor exhaled with exasperation as he slumped back in his seat. Arm supported by the armrest, he rubbed his brows in frustration. He had feared that this would happen, and no matter what Gamlen might have thought of him, he understood what he must be feeling, but everything has already been set in stone, there was nothing he could do now that the only person that could have undone this has been laid to rest. He on the other hand, could only hope that he wouldn't be so rash as to let his emotions take the better of him or he'd have to learn the futility of it all the hard way.


	2. A restrained day

"Serah Amell."

Gamlen groaned as he felt the cold hard floor mashing against his cheek, threatening to leave an ugly stamp on it. His annoyance was further compounded by the image of dark slashes across the floor, which he figured out promptly as the shadow cast by the bars that imprisoned him. Having born a nobility, he was entitled to certain privileges, one of those was waking up in a warm and comfortable bed, and not in this cesspool of a jail smeared with Maker knows what. He would not stand for this utter disregard for his status, he would make sure that the viscount hear of this. But as soon as his mind could overlook the outrageous condition of his accommodation, his mind swiftly wondered as to why he was banished into this squalor in the first place, did they not know who he was? Why hasn't his father sent one of the housemaids to come here and bail him out? All of a sudden the harsh reality struck him hard in the pit of his stomach – he was alone, and worse of all, penniless.

"Serah Amell," the voice started again. A voice that he knew all too well. He looked up from the floor to see the bearded executor already standing outside his cell, there was concern in his eyes. _How long has he been standing there?_

He stood up and approached the man. His hands gripping the bar of his cell.

"Albert, you must get me out of this place."

"You know very well the guards don't take the breaking and entering of a Hightown mansion lightly," he said, his frown deepening behind his thick grey mustache.

"It is my home! How dare you change the locks without my consent?"

"With all due respect Serah Amell, it is your home no longer. As an executor, my responsibility to you ended the moment I read you your father's will, so I couldn't care less if you decided to waste your life away. However, William was a dear friend of mine and I'm quite sure he doesn't want to see you like this."

Gamlen smiled, a sardonic smile, as he walked to the back of his cell listlessly and sat down where the shadow shielded him from the intruding light. He sat limp and lowered his head as if he had lost all hope, "I somehow doubt that, after all, it is him who left my good-for-nothing sister with all his wealth and left me with nothing. Why did he even bother to keep me around if he was just going to leave me to die like the lowliest cockroach in Darktown?"

"He didn't leave you with nothing. It is actually one of the reasons why I came down here, you left quite abruptly."

"A blasted sword and an estate in Orlais that he never spoke about, just goes to tell you how much he really cared for me, if he cared about me at all."

"So you would rather rot here? You do realize that nobody is going to protect you now? You have no estate in this city any longer, your status means nothing, rumors have already started going around that the Amell line have finally gone extinct, and the fact you're imprisoned here for Maker knows how long just further warrants it."

Gamlen kept his silence. He'd like to point out that the rumor has been around for quite a while but he didn't see any point in it. It was no secret in Kirkwall that he wasn't the golden child of the two. For as long as he could remember, he's always been the black sheep of the family. His childhood was plagued with illness. While he was always the one to be confined to his bed for a week for something as minor as a cough, Leandra was the one who'd be brought to dances, dinners and other lavish court events by his parents. They showered her with attentions, gave her all the gifts she wanted, which she happily accepted despite the fact that she knew as well as he that it was merely a bribe for her to allow herself to be pawned off to the Comte de Launcets' son. His family's game of intrigue with the rest of the nobilities was something he could do without, but part of him still longed for the affection his parents had showered upon his little sister, even if it was a selfish, materialistic-based, kind of affection. In contrast, his parents didn't expect much from him, neither did the nobilities among whom he lived. They were probably surprised that he grew up at all.

"You remembered that part correctly," the executor started, waking him from his thoughts.

"However, I didn't have the chance to inform you of the condition." Gamlen shook his head in disbelief, they had left him with what, for all he knew, could have been a pigsty in Orlais, of all places, and they still could manage to insult him more by attaching ridiculous conditions in order to get it.

"It says that if you haven't claimed your remaining estate by the following Satinalia, it'd be awarded to whoever resides in it. But seeing as you're not even interested in the property, it seems like I just wasted my time by going down here." The executor said as he folded the piece of paper and put it back inside his pocket.

"Farewell Serah Amell," he bowed in a most polished manner, but as he turned away Gamlen's hand grabbed his arm through the bar of the cell. The executor looked over his shoulder with an assertive glare, which Gamlen immediately responded by letting go of his arm.

The executor was glad nevertheless, judging from his grip on his arm, that Gamlen has finally understood that his choice was this or nothing at all.

After a long pause he finally blurted out, "I-I want to know more about this estate." The executor smiled as he fished for the note in his inner jacket pocket.

He turned around, a folded piece of parchment in his hand, "I'm glad that you have finally come around. Your father didn't state much about it in his will, aside from its location. It's also implied that someone is living there, so it could be a house." He then handed the note pertaining to the location to Gamlen.

Gamlen promptly unfolded the parchment and squinted at the lack of light, "Artois, I've never heard of it, he certainly never said anything about our family having Orlesian ties, unless Leandra went through with her arranged marriage and we both know that didn't happen. If this house really belonged to us it must be pretty old since our family has been in Kirkwall since my grandfathers' time. You fought alongside him in the war, you knew my father longer than I did, so he must have told you something." Gamlen asked, it was the first time since this nightmare had started that he could hear hope in his voice.

"Your father never spoke of it, it could be that he was quite ashamed of his Orlesian blood, if he has any, and I wouldn't blame him for that." Gamlen wondered whether he was referring to Orlais occupation of Kirkwall a century ago or the general Orlesian eccentricity. But it didn't matter as the only person alive whom he thought could have known his father better turned out to be just as clueless as he was.

"Artois, I recognize that name, it's an old name, I don't even know they still use that name," he said as he rubbed his greying beard.

Gamlen furrowed his brows, "Wait, what do you mean they don't use that name anymore?"

"The name used to describe the northern part of Orlais but over the centuries of war and fighting the Nevarrans have managed to chip away at the region. Which means this estate of yours might even date back to the Exalted Age. It is most intriguing..."

Gamlen could see the executor's frown behind his thick mustache at his yawning. History has never really been his favorite topic, and it wasn't about to change now. "So, can I even still claim the estate if the land itself has changed hands?"

"For this very purpose, your father has ordered his personal accountant to provide you, at your request, with the accounts of land tax payments made to the Kingdom of Nevarra throughout the years. It's accompanied by the title of the land and other necessary documents of course."

Gamlen nodded. He was not completely hopeless. He hastily looked up at the executor with renewed fervor, "Then you better get me out of here fast."

The executor smiled, "As you wish." He said tersely as he revealed the key to his cell from his pocket.


End file.
